The Japanese Screen

by Anne Mather

  ‘Spanish men are not blind, Monica,’ said Lucie shortly. ‘We have a deeper respect for convention, that is all.’

  Monica grimaced, and Susannah felt an unwilling smile touching her lips. ‘Yeah? Well, you call it what you like, honey. But I’m telling you—in the States you don’t have to lead a horse to water and then show it how to drink as well!’

  Lucie’s lips curled at Monica’s rather coarse metaphor, and Susannah thought it was a suitable moment to tell her that she would not be going to New York with them.

  ‘What?’ Lucie looked horrified. ‘But why not?’

  Susannah bit her lower lip. ‘I’d rather get another post over here, señora.’

  Lucie seethed, ‘Does my husband know this?’

  ‘Not yet, señora. I intended telling him today, but as you were talking about it…’

  ‘I see.’ Lucie tapped her palms together impatiently. ‘You realize that we will have to find someone else immediately and that when we do you will be redundant, do you not?’

  ‘Yes, señora.’ Susannah looked reluctantly towards Eduardo. Surely Lucie was not going to make a confrontation out of this.

  But now the older woman, Monica d’Alvarez, was looking interested. ‘What do you mean about taking another post over here?’ she asked. ‘In England, do you mean, or does the continent appeal to you?’

  Susannah shrugged. ‘I will have to see what I am offered, señora.’

  Monica nodded. ‘Sure. Sure you will. Well, I’d be willing to take you on.’

  Susannah didn’t know who looked the most shocked, herself or Lucie Castana.

  ‘You would!’ exclaimed Lucie impatiently, ‘Why would you require the services of a governess? Marla is fourteen years of age. She goes to the convent school, does she not?’

  Monica d’Alvarez brought out a pack of long American cigarettes and put one between her lips. Lighting it, she said: ‘Sure. Marla goes to the convent, but I’m not so mad about that idea. Hell, she’s as much an American as she is a Spaniard. She speaks English as well as I do. Why shouldn’t she take English lessons instead of Spanish ones?’

  Lucie’s nostrils flared. ‘The convent is an excellent establishment. I was educated there myself.’

  Monica’s lips twisted. ‘Okay, don’t get hot under the collar. I’m not cribbing the convent. I’m only saying that Marla might be offered a choice.’

  Lucie’s fingers tapped together restlessly. ‘Your husband would never agree, Monica.’

  ‘Maybe not.’ Monica shrugged. ‘Maybe I won’t ask him.’ She turned to Susannah. ‘Well, honey? What do you say? How does the idea appeal to you? It’s your decision, after all.’

  Susannah had been standing listening to their conversation while a wave of consternation swept over her. Monica d’Alvarez was married to a Spaniard, a small voice inside her was saying; she lived in Spain, and after Lucie’s appraisal of the convent school it must be somewhere near where the Castanas themselves used to live. Fernando was a friend of the Castanas. He must live in that area, too.

  ‘I—I don’t know—’ she began helplessly, half afraid to consider what this might mean.

  ‘It is a totally different way of life,’ put in Lucie coldly. ‘I do not think you would like it, señorita.’

  ‘Hey, don’t put her off!’ Monica frowned impatiently at the Spanish woman. ‘Just because you can’t have her, it doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t.’

  Susannah had to say something. ‘I—you live in Spain, señora?’

  ‘That’s right. In a little place called Alvaridad. Actually,’ Monica pulled a face, ‘it’s called for my husband’s family. The Alvarez vineyards are famous the world over.’

  Susannah licked her dry lips. ‘Is that—the southern part of Spain, señora?’

  ‘Yeah! Andalucia!’ The way Monica said it it had no magic whatsoever. ‘We’re pretty near Cadiz, and not too far from Seville. The place is steeped in history.’

  Susannah swallowed a sense of panic that rose into her throat. Andalucia was not such a vast area that she might not be able to discover exactly where the Cuevas family had their vineyards. But did she want to know? Could she go to Spain knowing that she might meet Fernando again? After all, he had not asked her to do so, had not even wanted to see her again. And yet he had said he loved her…

  ‘It—it sounds intriguing,’ she admitted, not wanting to commit herself.

  Monica was delighted. ‘You think so?’

  Lucie looked disdainfully at them both. ‘Señorita King may find she has little to do in her spare time,’ she remarked.

  Monica frowned. ‘Well, I guess I have to tell you that there isn’t much in the way of entertainment at that. We live a pretty ordinary existence most of the time.’ She shrugged. ‘Of course, it depends what you like doing. The weather’s pretty good mostly, and we’re not too far from the coast.’

  ‘Señorita King will miss her friends,’ Lucie pointed out.

  Monica gave the other woman a killing look. ‘What do you say, Miss King?’ she asked encouragingly, turning to Susannah.

  ‘Do not rush her,’ snapped Lucie, making her own dissatisfaction at this turn of events abundantly clear. ‘We cannot all come to these sudden decisions, Monica.’

  ‘What’s to decide?’ Monica drew on her cigarette deeply. ‘Either she wants to come or she doesn’t.’

  Susannah didn’t know what to say. ‘You say your daughter is—fourteen, señora?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘And she is your only child?’

  ‘She is.’ Monica gave a resigned gesture. ‘You’ll have no trouble with her. Spanish girls are brought up to be boringly obedient.’ She ignored the way Lucie bristled at this. ‘That’s why I want you to teach her. I want her to realize that she has a mind of her own.’

  Lucie sniffed. ‘Girls from good families have breeding, Monica. That is something you know perhaps very little about.’

  Monica turned on her. ‘Oh, yeah? Heck, Lucie, stop trying so hard to make the girl change her mind.’

  ‘I didn’t know she had already decided.’

  ‘Perhaps she hasn’t at that. And if you have your way she never will.’

  ‘Marla is better off at the convent,’ said Lucie adamantly.

  ‘Oh, is she?’ Monica nodded. ‘And what will be ahead of her after that? Engagement—marriage to some chosen suitor? Oh, no, not for Marla. Do you think I want her to turn out like me? Like you? Frustrated to the point of boredom. Married to men who scarcely know of our existence? Come off it, Lucie! You know I’m right. You don’t love Carlos. You never did. You wouldn’t keep making a play for Fernando if you really loved your husband!’

  Fernando!

  Susannah caught her breath. Monica had used his name. And it had to be the same Fernando, for hadn’t she seen the way Lucie looked at him? That meant that Monica knew him too!

  ‘Monica! Por favor! ’

  Clearly Monica had gone too far now and Lucie glared angrily at her, her flashing eyes indicative of her feelings. Monica sighed and shook her head.

  ‘Okay, okay, I’ll shut up! But it’s the truth and you know it.’ She turned once more to Susannah. ‘Well, honey? How long do you need to think it over?’

  Susannah was trying to make up her mind. Of course, there was always the possibility that Monica d’Alvarez would forget all about this conversation as soon as she left the room. Did she want that? Or was she prepared to go to Spain and risk seeing Fernando again?

  The maid’s knock interrupted them. ‘Excuse me, Señora Castana,’ she said politely, ‘but there’s a gentleman downstairs asking for Señora d’Alvarez.’

  Monica swung round. ‘Did he give his name?’

  ‘Yes, madam. A Mr. Rosenberg—’

  ‘Max! It’s Max!’ Monica’s face glowed with animation. ‘Lucie, did you hear that? Max is here! Oh, how wonderful!’

  She went quickly to the door and Susannah’s shoulders sagged. No doubt now she would forget all about
the idea of employing a governess. And perhaps it was just as well at that. Although…

  ‘Just a minute.’ Monica was turning. ‘I’ll be back later to hear what you have to say, honey. If it’s money you’re worried about, don’t be. I’ll double whatever Lucie’s paying you, and throw in a month’s salary in advance as an assurance of good faith.’

  Susannah clenched her fists, and then took an impulsive step forward. ‘There—there’s no need for you to come back,’ she faltered, as Monica paused expectantly. ‘That is—not to hear my decision. I—I will come and be Marla’s governess, if you’re sure you want me.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SUSANNAH had arrived in Madrid in the heat of the day when even the airport officials showed a distinct lack of enthusiasm for their duties, and had flown on to Seville while Spain drowsed in the siesta hours. After the magnificence of the Pyrenees which even now were still clothed in the snows of winter it was a dramatic contrast to land on tarmac made soft by the heat of the sun. But it was a contrast wholly to her liking. Even so, the air-conditioning of the aircraft had not prepared her for the onslaught of heat which hit her as she left the plane, or for the dazzling effect of white-painted buildings on the naked eye. However, by the time she had negotiated the formalities at Seville the cooler draught of evening was freshening the air and lengthening the shadows, and only the discomfiting warmth of the cream slack suit she had worn to travel in reminded her of the striking change of temperature.

  Emerging into the reception area she looked about her expectantly. She marshalled her two suitcases and breathed a sigh of relief. Now that she was here it hardly seemed possible that it was only hours since she had left the Frenches’ house in Kennington. The past two months had been so hectic, and she was glad that they were over at last. She had had so many things to contend with—not least her own conscience.

  Of course, once she knew Susannah was leaving, Lucie Castana had made things as unpleasant for her as possible, and not till her husband had found a satisfactory replacement did she refrain from criticizing the girl at every opportunity. Naturally, Monica d’Alvarez had had to return to Spain, but she had kept in touch with Susannah and made the eventual arrangements for her journey. Susannah could have done with the American woman’s support at this time. She had liked her, even though she had found her conversation a little coarse at times, but Lucie had lost no time in telling her that Monica was notorious for her unconventionality, and that she had had dozens of affairs. This man in London, Max Rosenberg, was only one of many lovers she had had, and if Susannah imagined she would have an easier time with the Alvarez family she was very much mistaken.

  Susannah had tried to ignore what she had been told. Señora d’Alvarez’s personal involvements did not concern her. It was true that she and Max Rosenberg had seen a lot of one another while she was in London, and that on the rare occasions when Susannah had seen them together their attitude towards one another had been disturbingly intimate, but that was nothing to do with her. Besides, she had enough problems of her own with Margaret.

  Her friend had made it plain that she considered her behaviour in accepting this post as reckless in the extreme, and in the few days that Susannah had spent with the Frenches, prior to leaving for Spain, Margaret had done her utmost to persuade her to change her mind and find another post here in England.

  But Susannah had been unable to draw back. Maybe she was behaving recklessly, but if she gave up now she might spend the rest of her life wondering why Fernando had left so abruptly. Perhaps he had reasons for keeping his life in England apart from his life in Spain, perhaps he was married as Margaret had suggested, but if she never made the effort to find out she could never be sure. She refused to consider what she might do if he should prove to be married…

  The reception area which had been quite crowded when she first arrived had now quietened and she was beginning to wonder when she was to be met and who was to meet her when a polite, but alien, voice inquired: ‘Señorita King, por favor?’

  Susannah turned to confront the man who had spoken. He was about her own height and very slim, with the swarthy cast of his race. He was dressed in the discreet uniform of a chauffeur, and she couldn’t help but wonder how he could appear so cool. ‘Yes,’ she answered now, T am Susannah King. Who are you?’

  The man drew himself up to his full height and she would not have been surprised if he had clicked his heels. ‘Pedro Morales, señorita. El chofer de Don Fernando Ramirez Esteban Cuevas d’Alvarez, a su disposicion!’

  Susannah’s fingers twisted the strap of her handbag. ‘I—I see,’ she managed with difficulty, but two names had registered out of that stream of Spanish—Fernando and Cuevas! What did it mean? That they were common names in this country? Or that this man—this chauffeur—was in the employ of Fernando? Shaking her head, she forced herself to go on: ‘How—how do you do? Do you speak English?’

  The chauffeur bent to pick up her cases. ‘A little, señorita,’ he conceded slowly. ‘Come—por favor.’

  Outside the airport buildings the fierceness of the sun had abated and Susannah breathed deeply as she followed him across the parking area to where a low-slung black limousine was waiting. As he stowed her suitcases in the boot she studied the coat of arms on the door. It was the crest of the Alvarez family, incorporating an eagle and a pomegranate, and unaccountably she shivered. What did it all mean? Was Fernando a relative of the Alvarez family? She was confused and vaguely apprehensive.

  Because of his evident difficulties with her language and her limited knowledge of Spanish, they spoke little on the journey to the Alvarez estate. Susannah wished she could have questioned him about the family, but perhaps it was as well that she could not. She was only a governess here after all, an employee as Pedro Morales was an employee, and she doubted very much whether he would have been prepared to discuss his employers with her.

  To her disappointment their route did not take them into Seville itself, but instead they turned south on to the main highway which, had it not been for the fact that they were driving on the right-hand side of the road, might have been a motorway in England. Night was falling and all she could see was the black road ahead and the brilliant illumination of passing headlamps.

  Eventually they turned off the motorway to follow a much narrower, winding road, the surface of which was vastly inferior to what she had been used to. She wasn’t sure, but she thought that vineyards lined the road, and there was a distinct smell of lemon trees from an orchard hidden behind a high stone wall. She guessed there were houses too, concealed by other walls in the Moorish fashion, and wished it was still daylight. There was so much she wanted to see.

  Presently they turned between stone gateposts which in the brief illumination of the headlamps revealed that they were topped by stone eagles, realistically poised for the kill. They left the narrow road to ascend a steep gradient between trees that pressed in on all sides. She guessed they had reached the Alvarez estate and that this was the drive which led up to the house. Her nerves tensed and on impulse she leant forward to the driver and said: ‘Are we almost there? Is this the Alvarez estate?’

  Pedro Morales glanced at her over his shoulder. ‘Si, señorita.’ He spread an encompassing hand. ‘All estate—de Don Fernando.’

  Susannah sank back. ‘Thank you.’ She looked helplessly through the windows. Don Fernando! Who was Don Fernando? This man’s employer, certainly, but what else? And what had he to do with Monica d’Alvarez?

  The car was slowing to a halt and for a moment her heart pounded. But then she saw ahead of them a high stone wall with wrought iron gates closed against them. Pedro sounded his horn and immediately a man came running to unlock the gates and throw them wide, looking curiously into the shadowy interior of the car as it passed.

  But Susannah was too intent on her surroundings to pay any attention to the gatekeeper. The car was sweeping to a halt before shallow stone steps leading up to a lamplit patio. Beyond the patio lay the house w
hich even in shadow could be seen to be enormous. An arched entrance led through to an inner courtyard which Susannah could see was illuminated by Moorish lamps hung from a surrounding balcony. There were fountains in the inner courtyard and the sound of their playing was like music on the air.

  Pedro Morales got out and came round to assist her and Susannah had to rouse herself with difficulty. But there was so much to see and absorb—palm trees casting pools of shadow, masses of flowers, their colours muted by the amber light from the lamps, urns that spilled flowering shrubs over the shallow steps and twined about the pillars that supported the patio. The building was two-storied, and there were shutters to all the windows, thrown back now so that huge moths fought to gain entrance through the panes of glass lit from within.

  Susannah stood on the stone steps waiting for Pedro to retrieve her luggage feeling more apprehensive than ever. Perhaps Lucie Castana had been right, after all. This would be an entirely different way of life. Who could live in magnificent surroundings like these without being affected by them?

  Before Pedro had closed the boot of the opulent limousine a black-clad figure came walking through the archway from the inner courtyard. Susannah glanced at the figure nervously, imagining it to be a manservant come to show her to her room. But whoever it was he halted in the shadows and while he could see her very well, she could only vaguely see him.

  Her nerves were jumping. The journey, this imposing house, the unseen watcher in the shadows, the darkness—all served to make her uneasy. She turned back to Pedro, silently urging him to hurry. The boot was closed and Pedro picked up her cases, and Susannah breathed a sigh of relief. But when she looked round the black-clad figure had gone, he had disappeared as noiselessly as he had come. She blinked incredulously. She couldn’t have imagined it, could she? Surely her nerves were not as torn as that.

  ‘Come!’

  Pedro was smiling encouragingly and with a shrug she accompanied him up the shallow steps and across the mosaic tiling of the patio. They entered the inner courtyard through the arched way and Susannah couldn’t suppress the shiver that engulfed her as they passed the spot where the figure had been standing.